


Maybe Someday All This Pain Will Be Useful To You

by Emma44126



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma44126/pseuds/Emma44126
Summary: Kenny is dead, except this time for good and no one but Karen remembers that he even existed in the first place.





	Maybe Someday All This Pain Will Be Useful To You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Play The Part of the Martyr and Get Yourself Typecast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329222) by [Draikinator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator). 



> This was inspired by Draikinator's story, though I didn't include anything about her becoming Mysterion. I wanted to just play off the part of Kenny dying and Karen feeling alone.
> 
> Basically an AU where Kenny dies and no one remembers- except Karen.

She sits in a plastic chair and watches the clock tick, noting how she has a little less than an hour here. The man sitting across from her readjusts himself in his own chair. In his right hand is a clipboard, in his left is a pen.

She likes to pretend he isn’t watching her by focusing her gaze on the plastic armrests of the chair. Karen snickers slightly as she notices how the movies are wrong: _There probably isn’t even a fainting couch anywhere in this building._ He glances at her and raises an eyebrow, but he does not make the effort to say anything.

She can hear him click his ballpoint pen over and over again, tapping dots onto the paper he’s supposed to be filling out with her answers, but she hasn’t been talking. Originally, it was a questionnaire that _she_ was supposed to fill out, but after 5 visits, once a week every week -which should be noted the only time Karen ever left her “dorm” _besides for food-_ she snapped.

She chuckles lightly at the memory and looks up at Dr. Craig Tucker. Karen wonders if he still has a small scar from the incident 6 months prior or if she didn’t even stab him hard enough in the shoulder with the pen. Needless, to say it was probably the most vocal she's ever heard him.

Now, he’s watching her more intently, but, before he can try to speak again, his phone rings, he does not apologize, simply pulls it out of his white coat, looks at it and silences it, Karen can’t help but wonder if it’s his husband (the one Tricia talks about sometimes) the one he’s been fighting with over some stupid reason.

Judging by the sour look on his face that appears for less than a minute, before returning to his normal blank stare, it is.

“I suppose, we should get through the questions again, Karen. Shouldn’t we?”

It’s the same questions every week on Wednesday, one hour and a half every Wednesday. Karen knows her answers and he knows she will say the same thing she says every time, but no amount of complaining to anyone of any sort will let him switch it up- sometimes stupid questions are required to be asked.

“I suppose,” Karen mutters.

He asks simple questions, example: “How was your day?”. She replies with simple answers “Fine, the cafeteria had chicken for lunch today”. The cafeteria had chicken nearly every day. He’d ask some stupid follow up question like, “Do you like chicken?” She’d say “Food’s food”. Karen grew up in the poor part of town with two- _three_ kids, food was not to be complained about, ‘picky eater’ was not allowed in her dictionary.

He’d ask her some other stupid question, and then another one, and another one, until he was all out of questions. Then for the remainder of the time, she would sit in silence, while he tried to talk about why she was here. Finally, he would give up and sit in silence with her waiting for the time to go by.

But, today is different, instead, he sets down the clipboard and crosses one leg over the other, the pen still in his left hand- and he fiddles with it. When she asks about the required questions, his only response is “Fuck the required questions”. He rubs his tired eyes and sighs, she notices that he looks lankier and exhausted. Karen worries about him a little, but at the same time she is thankful she isn’t the only one who has changed.

“Tell me about-” He stops for a moment, trying to remember the name, Eyes starting to glaze over “Fuck, sorry, what was the name again?” Karen stares at him for a moment, noticing a few white hairs here and there, despite his young age. But, he looks at her expectantly like she’s actually is going to comply.

For once, Karen feels like doing just that.

She doesn’t know if he wants to know about her brother that is alive or the one no one remembers.

“Kenny?” She asks testing the waters.

He nods, 6 months ago, he was able to ask about Kenny as he pleased, but after the incident, they refused what they called open discussion, worried any questions not approved would cause another _episode._

Karen knows he's not supposed to be talking about this, precautions have been set up for reasons. A camera is set in place watching their every movement and she wouldn't doubt if it had audio as well. If he gets caught, she knows he will get in trouble for it, but judging by the look on his face it is clear he just doesn't care anymore.

“I've already told you about him,”

“I know, but tell me more. His favorite color, what he liked to do, anything really Karen.”

“I never knew,”

“You never knew?” He is intrigued, he uncrosses his legs and leans forward slightly. She understands, most ‘imaginary friends’- as some of the nurses like to call them (even though they aren’t supposed to) behind patients’ backs when they think they can’t hear them- are supposed to have detail, they are the center of almost every child and the occasional adult’s life.

“No, he was busy protecting me, we didn't have time for stupid questions like we do here,”

He gives a light chuckle and grabs the clipboard off the ground, resituates himself and write something down.

Karen pretends she doesn't mind too much because it’s his job, but she cannot stop herself from glaring at the floor and biting her bottom lip, mentally cursing herself for ever speaking up.

\---

They allow visitors and though she has lost her right to open discussion she still carries this one.

Rarely anyone ever visits, but she never expected them to anyways.

In the beginning, before her episode, Kevin her eldest brother came, but only once-

_“You know he’s real right?” Karen’s crying is heavier now, “He was real, and he was the only one who ever cared about me, while mom and dad argued, and you were off doing whatever the fuck you did,” Her voice is getting louder and shakier by each word. Out of the corner of her eye she can see a nurse alert a security guard, but she couldn’t possibly care less._

_“We cared about you Karen, we still care Karen. But this isn’t healthy. This person you made up- Keith or whatever, isn’t real and you need to know this. I talked to your doctors- they think it’s to cope with what we grew up with, that you made up someone to protect you. And Karen, I’m sorry, that it wasn’t me,” Kevin voice breaks, “That it wasn’t me who protected you, God, this is all my fault, I should have been there,”_

_There is a part of her that wants to forgive him and hold him in her arms, but she can’t, it’s like some greater force is telling her not to back down- not to give up. Instead, she swallows the lump in her throat and bunches her fists by her sides._

_“His name was Kenny,” She whispered, “Why don’t you remember him, he was your brother and you forgot him, everyone did. I’m the only one who ever remembers.” Her voice getting louder with each word. Quickly the security guard is over and escorting Kevin away, as two nurses come to collect her._

-After that fight she told him to never come back, and though he wasn't always the best brother he was always a good listener.

\---

Sometimes, Tricia comes to visit, she doesn’t know if it is because she’s forced to or if it’s because she actually believes anything she says. Considering, she is Dr. Tucker’s little sister she believes it is the former, but she can never be too sure- she never talks about it.

Instead, she talks about the weather or sports- pointless small talk. Every now and then she talks about the kids at school: who likes who, the latest rumors and the latest drama. She never mentions if they talk about her at school, even if she knows they do.

However, today is a different conversation. Karen could tell it would be when Tricia walked into the room. She carried a photo with her, and when she sees it in her hands Karen can feel her chest constricting.

She asks her if she knows who it is, she’s been asking around and no one knows. However, Karen knows this isn’t true, Tricia hardly talks to anyone besides a few people, she knows she is the first person she asks, and it makes her feel slightly better because it almost feels as if they are friends.

But, it is when she shows it to her that almost blissful feeling goes away. Karen’s hands shake as she reaches to grab the photo. It’s him. Kenny. It’s an old photo back when she was little- either 6 or 7 she can’t exactly tell, but it looks about right, Kenny looks about 10 in the photo. Karen doesn’t even bother to think about how she got her hands on it.

As she lets out a shaky breath, Dr. Tucker watches her, his pen ready to write even more notes. She quickly pulls back her arm.

Her chest is constricting again, every movement she makes, every word she says that is questionable is marked down for review. Every breath she holds and every slight twitch is stored in memory to be analyzed. Every little thing is taken into consideration for how her next day will be planned out, down to what pills they feed her. She can hardly take it anymore.

And when she looks up and she sees Dr. Tucker fiercely scribbling away on the clipboard she cannot help but want to vomit.

She is torn between telling the truth like she has all along, or she can surrender and give them what they have always wanted from the very beginning. She remembers what her eldest brother said, what her parents said, what every person in her stupid small town, and whatever psychiatrist and psychologist ever said.

Swallowing back tears, she peels her arms off the armrests and sets her hands in her lap, and whispers,

“No. No, I don’t know who that is.”


End file.
